


Just a Small Injury

by steverogersass



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Blood, Fluff, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, I wrote this at 4am, Injury, Irondad, I’m ignoring endgame and infinity war try and stop me, Medical Inaccuracies, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, this is so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 23:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steverogersass/pseuds/steverogersass
Summary: Eventually, Peter decides he’s bled out enough that he probably needs a bandaid or two. He did just get shot four times.





	Just a Small Injury

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is my first fic and it’s based off a text post on tumblr that i can’t find which sucks but it went smth like this
> 
> peter: hi mr stark i know ur super busy and have heaps of important things to worry about but ive just been shot a couple times no big deal dw about it just thought id let u know but do u have like a bandaid or smth  
> tony: kid what the fuck

Honestly, Peter knows he should tell Tony, but he’s so tired and he doesn’t wanna bother him; Mr. Stark has more important things to worry about than a stupid kid who’s been shot.

Peter had stumbled into the Tower at about 1:00 am, still in the suit with four bullet wounds in his abdomen. He’s still dripping blood everywhere and he can’t even remember how he’d gotten here. He’s dizzy and shaking and his vision is getting kind of foggy. He figures that none of this is particularly good, but in his dazed state of mind, he finds he doesn’t really care.

As soon as Peter enters the private elevator, FRIDAY’s voice breaks through his thoughts and causes the ringing in his ears to increase painfully once again. “Welcome back, Peter. I’ve detected multiple bullet wounds and serious blood loss. Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark?”

“No thanks, FRI. I’ll just speak to him when I get up there,” he says, and his voice sounds strained and off even to himself.

As she takes him up to the penthouse, Peter wonders what he’ll tell Mr. Stark. He’s a busy man who doesn’t have enough time (or brain cells) to deal with a slightly injured teenager, so Peter’s not exactly sure how to approach the situation. Of course, Mr. Stark has literally no reason to care or help him at all, so Peter can’t expect him to. Maybe he’ll just run in, grab some bandaids and some painkillers then leave. If he bumps into Tony, it won’t matter.

The lift doors slide open and Peter steps out into the penthouse. He trips over his own feet, and his brain feels like it’s spinning and swirling all around his head; spots of black and white invade his eyesight, and he thinks he’s going to fall. He quickly jerks out a hand to catch and steady himself against a wall, shifting the bullet wounds in his stomach. Peter bites down a cry of pain, and slumps against the wall, panting.

“Peter,” FRIDAY speaks cautiously. Can AI’s even be cautious? “I think I should really contact Mr. Stark. You’re losing too much blood, and if you don’t receive medical attention in the next half hour, you will go into hypovolemic shock.”

“I’m fine, FRIDAY,” Peter mutters through gritted teeth.  
He finally regains some clarity to his vision and pushes his weight back onto his feet. His head spins and his legs buckle slightly, but he’s far more concerned about the blood smeared against the white painted wall on which he was just leaning. Peter makes a mental note to apologise to Mr. Stark about it as soon as he sees him.

He slips through the halls, passing the guest rooms and the kitchen on shaking legs until he reaches the living room. Mr. Stark is sprawled on the couch, coffee in hand and his eyes scanning the laptop in front of him tiredly. When he notices Peter he looks up at him in surprise.  
“Hey, kid. What brings you here so late? It’s a bit past your bedtime,” he teases, and the fatigue is evident in his voice. Peter feels even worse about disturbing him.

“Um, so I know you’re probably really busy and I’m being really annoying because it’s so late and you probably don’t want anyone disturbing you or whatever, I was just shot a few times on patrol and I was just wondering if I could maybe get some painkillers or something. Honestly, it’s not a big deal. I know you don’t have time for these kinds of things and I can leave if you want and come back later, whatever suits you.” The words leave his mouth in an anxious rush, and he regrets them as soon as they come out.

Mr. Stark is staring at him in horror, and he springs up, discarding the coffee and laptop. He’s by Peter’s side in less than a second, asking him hurried question after question, not giving him any time to answer.  
“What? When did this happen? How many wounds are there? Have they closed over or are you still bleeding? Why didn’t FRIDAY tell me? Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t your suit alert me?” Mr. Stark’s eyes are wide and his voice trembles.

Peter quickly brushes him off and reassures him, talking over Tony to prevent him from spiraling into panic. If he wasn’t so out of it, he’d think it was funny for the person with several bullet wounds bleeding out onto the carpet to be comforting the other person who wasn’t even injured.  
Mr. Stark’s eyes flicker over Peter’s stomach where the four literal holes in his body were, inhaling sharply in horror.

“Oh my god. You need to get to the medbay right now,” Tony says, his voice tight and shaking with stress. He addresses the ceiling when he says, “FRIDAY, tell Bruce and Helen to get here right now and bring the medkit.”

Somewhere during Tony’s orders to FRIDAY, Peter is swamped with overwhelming fatigue and everything sounds and looks as though he’s underwater. His legs tremble more than they have the whole night, and suddenly, he can’t hear a thing, a roaring white noise invading his thoughts. His eyes roll to the back off his head and he can feel himself tipping back and falling. He doesn’t even register Mr. Stark yelling and reaching out to catch him, or the feeling of his body hitting the floor.

  
The last thing that happens before he’s wrapped in darkness and he loses consciousness, Peter stares up at Mr. Stark with glazed-over eyes. ‘Wow,’ he thinks. ‘He looks really stressed. He should calm down.’

~

The smells of bleach, linen and hand sanitiser are the first things Peter is aware of when he wakes up. He’s in the Tower’s medbay, he concludes when he sees the IV in his arm, the hospital bed he’s laying on and the blue gown he’s wearing that had evidently replaced his Spider-man suit.  
There are several empty cups of coffee, some blankets and a hoodie surrounding a chair next to the bed. Peter’s alone right now, but he clearly hasn’t been during the time he’s been asleep.

Just as Peter shifts, Mr. Stark trudges in, looking disheveled and balancing three more cups of coffee in his arms. His eyes stay on the floor beneath him, but when he notices Peter looking at him confusedly, the coffee is flung across the room in shock and he sweeps towards his kid.

“Oh my god. Peter, I— Jesus. Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Do I need to call Bruce or Helen?” Tony fusses.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. Don’t worry,” Peter croaks, smiling slightly to reassure his mentor, and it’s the best thing Tony’s seen and heard in so long.

“I swear to god, kid. Don’t do that to me ever again. You shaved off a hundred years of my life and I’m not ready to go gray,” Mr. Stark mutters, slumping against the rails of Peter’s bed and resting his face in his hands.

“That’s funny,” Peter teases quietly. “I thought you’d already gone gray. See?” he says, pointing to Tony’s hair.

Mr. Stark hides a grin behind his hands and shakes his head at his kid. God, he missed his voice when he was out for the day. Emergency surgery, an absolute tonne of blood transfused, hypovolemic shock and internal bleeding all proved enough to completely destroy any methods to cope with anxiety he’d built up over the years.

“Sorry, by the way. I shouldn’t have bothered you so late,” Peter murmurs.

Tony looks alarmed. “What? That’s not what you should be apologising for. You should’ve called me as soon as you got shot. I’m glad you came to me, but honestly, you should’ve come sooner.”

A meek “oh” escapes Peter’s mouth before he apologises again.

  
“Uh-uh. Stop saying sorry. Everything’s fine,” Mr. Stark insists. Peter looks embarrassed and opens his mouth to apologise again, but Tony interrupts him. “Nope! What did I say, Underoos? And don’t say sorry this time.”

Peter just rolls his eyes and smiles again. He’s getting tired again, the effects of the drugs taking over. He flops his head back against the pillow and Tony drags his chair closer to the bed and sits in it. He runs his fingers through his kid’s hair and hums quietly.

Just as sleep is about to pull him under again, a horrible thought occurs to Peter, and his eyes fly open.

“What are we gonna tell Aunt May!?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is so short I’m so sorry I’ll try to write something longer next time thank u so much if u read this tho :D


End file.
